


Building Blocks

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Post-it Notes, cotton candy bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Building a relationship, note by note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building Blocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sbarmarj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbarmarj/gifts).



> I know this is kind of a cross between fic and art, and I'm sorry I didn't have something more elaborate for you!

  
  


[ **Post-It Note:**

Lieutenant Hill, I have questions about pp14-38. I've made an appointment for Monday with your PA.

regards

Captain Rogers]

* * *

 

  
  


 [ **Post-It Note:**

Lt, would like clarification on Sec 2 of mission 13-226. Will discuss on Thurs before briefing

rgds,

Captain Rogers.]

* * *

 

  
  


 [ **Paper note:**

I know you’ve got a phone. Answer your damn texts.

Hill.]

* * *

  
  


[ **Post-It note:**

Sorry, Romanoff warned me about texts from people I didn’t recognise. It won’t happen again.

Rogers.]

 

* * *

 

  
  


[ **Text Message** :

M: Kourabiethes? Really?

S: Heard you had a thing for them so I picked some up while in Athens.

M: Is this because of La Paz?

S: No. Well, not really. I just thought you’d like them.

M: Tell Romanoff to stop giving away my secrets.

S: She says you’ve got more on her than she does on you. Spill?

M: Pass. I like my neck intact.

M: And my kourabiethes.

M: Thank you.]

* * *

 

[ **Notecard:**

Commander,

Dropped in to congratulate you on the promotion, but you were out. A small gift which I think you'll appreciate.

best regards,

Rogers.]

* * *

 

  


[ **Text Messages** :

M: He keeps leaving me sticky notes. Sometimes with gifts.

P: …

P: This sounds like dating.

M: It’s not dating. Dating involves...things which we are most definitely not doing.

P: What gifts?

M: Greek shortbread. And a book.

P: What was the book about?

M: Russian female fighters in WWII. They were called ‘the Russian Witches’ and they were some of the best snipers and pilots in the Russian corps.

P: So, he’s sending you food, and gifts that are tailored to your likes, but you’re not dating.

M: We are most definitely not dating.

P: Because that sounds like dating to me. Or, at least, the bit that usually happens before dating. Or possibly when he’s been a dick and is trying to apologise.

M: Does it work with you?

P: We’re not talking about me, but, no, it doesn’t. Because Tony can’t remember what I like or dislike – or else he gets it turned around in his head. Captain Rogers, on the other hand, seems to have a very good bead on your likes and dislikes.

M: He’s probably just trying to stay on my good side.

P: There are plenty of men who try to stay on your good side, Maria. Not all of them bother remembering that you like stories about forgotten female warriors.]

* * *

 

  
  


[ **text message** :

S: Got the package in the mail. Thank you.

M: You’re welcome.

S: Where’d you get the photos?

M: S.H.I.E.L.D archives.

S: Do I have access to them? If not, could you get me access?

M: I’ll speak with Fury about it.]

* * *

The bouquet was elegant and charming - yellow roses blushing to orange, set with baby's breath and some ferny fronds that Maria didn't recognise, but which set the flowers off nicely.

“Ooh, nice flowers,” said her secretary cheerfully. “Shall I put them in a vase?”

“Yes, please, Ellie,” Maria told her, palming the card.

 

  
  


[ **notecard** :

I heard you’re working for Stark. Or Ms. Potts. Either way, condolences, congratulations, and thanks.]

 

* * *

 

To: [maria.hill@starkindustries.net](mailto:maria.hill@starkindustries.net)

From: [spangleman@starkindustries.net](mailto:spangleman@starkindustries.net)

Subject: email address

 

Who let Stark choose the email addresses?

 

\--

 

To: [spangleman@starkindustries.net](mailto:spangleman@starkindustries.net)

From: [maria.hill@starkindustries.net](mailto:maria.hill@starkindustries.net)

Subject: RE: email address

 

That would be Stark.

 

M.

 

\--

 

To: [spangleman@starkindustries.net](mailto:spangleman@starkindustries.net)

From: [maria.hill@starkindustries.net](mailto:maria.hill@starkindustries.net)

Subject: Europe

 

Seven reports in Paris. Analysis attached. You want to check who’s posting since ‘Soldier Spotting’ has become a thing since DC, and the conspiracy theorists are particularly intent on finding him.

 

\--

 

To: [maria.hill@starkindustries.net](mailto:maria.hill@starkindustries.net)

From: [spangleman@starkindustries.net](mailto:spangleman@starkindustries.net)

Subject: RE: Europe

 

Thanks. How’s things with Stark?

 

\--

 

 

To: [spangleman@starkindustries.net](mailto:spangleman@starkindustries.net)

From: [maria.hill@starkindustries.net](mailto:maria.hill@starkindustries.net)

Subject: RE: Europe

 

I haven’t killed him yet. This is alleged to be a good thing.

* * *

  
  


 

[ **Note** :

Next time Romanoff drags me and Banner to dinner, you’re not allowed to cry off for work. ‘Early morning mission’ is not an acceptable refusal.]

* * *

 

  


[ **text message** :

M: So you’re not up for a _menage a trois_ with Romanoff and Banner?

S: Is that what they were aiming for?

S: Thanks for the imagery. I may need a wire brush to scrub it off my brain.

M: No charge.]

* * *

“You know,” said Sam casually when Steve’s phone buzzed with yet another message as they got off the SI plane at the private airfield, “After six months of playing text-and-email footsie, most guys just ask her out to dinner.”

Steve didn’t ask how Sam knew who was texting him. “It’s not like that.” The defence sounded weak, even to his own ears.

“Is that your opinion or hers?”

“Both.”

“Look me in the eye and say that.”

Steve grimaced. "She's not interested."

"Have you asked her?"

"No. But..." Steve trailed off. _She doesn't engage with me like that._ No flirting, no come-ons, no encouragement. But, out of all the women he'd ever known, Maria would be the first to tell him if he'd gotten the boot on the wrong foot. No pussy-footing around it, no careful rejection; just her plain answer.

He ignored Sam's smirk. "Dinner, you say?"

* * *

  
  


[ **Note** :

Dinner at Mignonne, 7pm. Booked under your name – sorry, didn’t want to give them mine.

S.]

* * *

 

 

  


[ **text message** :

S: Where are you?

M: Early morning mission.

M: Sorry to fuck and run.

S: Don’t do that again. Ever.

S: If you need to go early, you wake me, and I’ll see you off.

S: If you’re ashamed of having slept with me, then we won’t do it again.

M: I don’t know how to do mornings after. This is new territory for me.

S: Me, neither. So we can learn together. If you like.

M: Okay.

S: Okay?

M: I just said that.

M: Did we have to do this by text?

S: Call me paranoid. I wanted it down in writing.

S: You’re a tough woman to pin down, Maria.

M: You didn’t have trouble with that last night.

S: I hope this isn’t the part where I’m supposed to send you a dick pic.

S: Because my sensibilities don’t go that far.

M: God. Please don’t. Ever.

S: Copy that. <3

M: We had to do this by text?

S: New territory, remember?

M: I’m remembering.]

 


End file.
